Category: Reflection

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節 [jié, ㄐㄧㄝˊ]

節

  • 段落、單位
  • 時令的區分
  • 有特殊意義，值得慶祝或紀念的日子

Jié (noun)

  • section, segment
  • division of time, season
  • special days, worthy of celebration or remembrance

In Chinese lunar calendar, a year is divided into twenty-four “jié” (solar terms).[1] Many traditional holidays coincide with certain jié: New Year’s Day is the first day of 立春 (lìchūn); Qingming Festival (清明, Memorial Day for ancestors) takes place on the fifteenth day after the Spring Equinox 春分. Since jié often synchronize with changing of seasons and climates, they are believed to be challenging times for elderlies or people with illness. As 節 is homophonous with 劫 (disasters), the older generations often say, “過節；過劫.” (Passing through the changes of jié—holidays—is like surviving calamities.)

Mom was in critical conditions when I went back to Taiwan at the end of December. We were told by the doctors to be counting days. Several friends comforted me as she regained some strength in early January. They said that mom had made it through a jié. When I decided to return to New York, I was wondering if she would be strong enough to welcome the lunar New Year with us.

節

  • 限制、控制、約束

Jié (noun)

  • to limit, to control, to constrain

節哀順變 is a traditional expression of condolence, meaning “to constrain one’s sorrow and to adapt to the changes.” It seems to me an impossible thing to constrain something illimitable.

Just when I thought that, having made it through lunar New Year, mom might stay with us for a while longer, the end—a peaceful one—came suddenly for mom. It was a shock. But it was neither the end, nor the beginning of grief for me.

In the last few years, dementia slowly and silently corroded mom’s spirit. Watching the mother that I knew gradually fading away, I felt a sorrow that started like a slow drip, gradually became a pond and, eventually, an ocean. Sometimes, I wondered if mom, on the other side, was troubled by the increasing distance between us.

In December, news of mom being hospitalized, and her conditions turning critical put my life in a stand-still. Flying home on Christmas Day, I prayed that mom would wait for my arrival. The air was suffocating, and any sounds surrounding me alarming. In the weeks that I stayed on her bedside, I struggled with letting go. Some people found it incomprehensible how and why I decided to return to New York. I found it difficult to negotiate with myself. The reality that my departure would not hurt mom further allowed me the courage to say good-bye. I left feeling grateful that I had a chance to share some peaceful days with her.

Her final departure to this physical world brought me bittersweet sentiments. I am relieved that she is no longer struggling with any worldly troubles and illness. I felt proud to have been part of her long beautiful and, sometimes, adventurous life. I am sad that I will not be able to give her another kiss on the cheek. This time, the lost is forever and tangible.

節

  • 志氣、操守

Jié (noun)

  • morality, integrity

Growing up, mom was very strict with us. Instead of lecturing us, she simply set goals for us and guided us along the way. She allowed us to make our personal and professional choices. For her, integrity was more important than success. I am not sure if I have lived up to mom’s expectations. I would like to continue to try my best on everything. Hopefully, mom will give a gentle nod of approve to my thoughts.

[1] Solar_term_Wiki

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Karma

Mom was admitted to the hospital one week before Christmas. Although there were never any prior symptoms, she was diagnosed with final stage of cancer. Considering her age, and her deteriorating mental faculties, we decided not to put her through any aggressive treatments. I went home on Christmas Day to be with my family.

Robert and I took turn staying with mom overnight. Early on Saturday morning, after a good night’s sleep at home, I rushed back to the hospital. When I arrived, the entrance lobby, usually packed with patients, visitors and volunteers, was almost empty. An elderly Western gentleman was standing by the wheelchair lift in the vestibule. Frail and alone, he also seemed afflicted.

I approached him. He said that he needed a wheelchair. I got one from the service station. A young person helped him with a few steps up to the lobby. He tried really hard to communicate with me in poor Mandarin. Having a hard time understanding him, I asked him to speak English with me instead and to direct me to where he needed to go.

I told him that I lived in Manhattan. He said that he was from Long Island—Great Neck to be exact. Then, he asked if I was a Yankee or a Met fan. I replied that I would be happy to cheer for either side. By the time we reached the admission desk at the chemotherapy clinic, I had learned that this kind man was a Catholic priest and had lived in Taiwan for over fifty years.

Since it was my first time at the clinic, I was very clumsy with the sign-in procedure. The nurses also had some difficulties communicating with him regarding the appointment, never mind all his documents and prescribed medicines. Suddenly, he broke into perfect Taiwanese. Problem solved!

If, initially, he had spoken with me in Taiwanese, we would never have found out as much about each other: I would simply be a friendly stranger and he would simply be an elderly foreigner needing assistance. One of nurses gave me a big smile when she realized that I was a total stranger. As we wished each other best of luck, he said that I was an angel. I told him that our encounter was good karma for both of us.

It has been four weeks since our chance encounter. I keep the gentleman and his health in my thoughts. On the first day of the Year of the Rat, I wish to share the good karma with more people. May it be a long lasting one.